Awareness came back to him in blurs. Sounds smudged together, his vision was a fog of colors and light. For a moment, Dean just lay still as the world titled and turned in a kaleidoscope haze. It was easier to close his eyes and rest.

He might have, if someone hadn't pried his eyelid open and let in a brilliant light.

Dean grumbled crankily and turned his head from the onslaught.

"Dean?" Sam asked anxiously, far too close and far too loud.

Dean scowled with his eyes closed. "Fuck off."

Somewhere farther away, Bobby's voice emerged from the jumble of sound. "I see he hasn't lost his charming personality."

Dean wanted to be left alone, but Sam wasn't going to let that happen. "Come on, man, wake up."

Dean wanted to not obey, but Sam was worried (he could tell by the sound of his voice), and something innate in Dean made him respond to Sam in distress of any kind. With a groan of malcontent, Dean opened his eyes and began to struggle to a sitting position. He felt fuzzy and was pretty sure he was working on a magnificent headache.

Sam tried to help him into a sitting position, but Dean shook him off. "Back off, Samantha."

Dean didn't have to look to see the wounded, pleading look on Sam's face. That was mainly the reason Dean didn't look. He got himself sitting up, legs thrown over the side of the couch, and he let his head hang a moment.

He felt like he needed a full ten minutes to get his wits about him, but Sam was back in his face. "Did it work?"

Dean blinked up at Sam. "Huh?"

Bobby came up from behind the couch and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "He means is it just you, me, and Sam in the room?"

Oh… right.

Dean took a moment to look around the living room. He scanned the room full of books and auto parts at length. He looked at one side of the couch next to him, then the other. He looked back at Bobby then turned back around to look at Sam.

"It worked," he finally answered.

Sam sighed in relief. Bobby patted Dean's shoulder.

Dean rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. "If this party's over and Bobby's finished playing doctor – which you suck at, by the way – I'm going upstairs and crashing in an actual bed. That shit you did is giving me a headache, Bobby."

Bobby shrugged. "Sorry… side-effect of the cleansing process, I guess."

"Glad you sound so certain about it," Dean groused, and he stood shakily. Sam surged forward as if to help, but Dean waved him off moodily. "Hey… personal space, princess."

Sam stepped back, still anxious but looking perky about it. "Yeah, sure… okay."

Dean gave his sense of balance a moment to rally then turned and headed for the stairs. "Wake me when the pizza gets here," he called back.

"What pizza?" Sam asked.

"The one you're ordering. I'm starving, and you stabbed me with a needle."

Sam smiled and Bobby chuckled. "Sure thing, kid."

Dean dragged himself up the stairs and pushed into one of the spare bedrooms unofficially belonging to the Winchester boys. He was lucky not to find it strewn with engine parts… sometimes when their visits were unannounced they got the couch and floor because the bed went to an engine block.

Dean plopped down on the end of the bed and took a deep breath, briefly raking his hands through his hair.

Then he smiled faintly and turned to look at Carmen. "Yeah, that totally didn't work," he said lowly.

Carmen grinned and put her arms around him.

END